


Calls on the road

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: F/M, Snippetfic that follows snippetfic, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:06:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The phone had landed screen up beside Blue's pillow. Inside a bright orange local news team banner the headline read, <b>Local man killed in police shooting</b>.</p><p> </p><p>Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4057966">A small kindness</a>, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4067878">Messages from home</a>, and <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4153590">Lavatory interlude</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calls on the road

**Author's Note:**

> 24 June 2015 snippetfic for Sit the Fuck Down and Write Month

In her most generous and well-rested moments Blue sometimes had tremendous difficulty not reacting badly to the existence of Orla.

2 a.m. did not qualify as a well-rested moment of generosity. When Orla plopped down on Blue's bed, Blue's feet, tucked under the blanket, sprang awake first like blaring red sirens.

"Which part of 'eight hour waitressing shift' did you not understand?" Blue hissed to Orla, who was scrunching her nearer to the wall. She opened her eyes to the sight of Orla's pointy elbow -- connected to an arm, wrist, hand, and iPhone -- and a skinny silhouette in the bedroom doorway. "Who is that?"

"Elton," Orla said with a dismissive nod. Skinny silhouette slumped against the doorframe.

"Hello, Elton," Blue said in her least friendly voice.

Elton waved. The look on his face said he was regretting letting someone else hold his iPhone.

"Lookit," Orla said, thumbing her way to a bright screen, which she held up far too close. The corner of the phone caught Blue's chin.

"Urg," Blue said, and grabbed the phone. She sat up and pushed Orla off the bed.

"All right," Orla groused.

The phone had landed screen up beside Blue's pillow. Inside a bright orange local news team banner the headline read, **Local man killed in police shooting**.

Blue rubbed her eyes. _"The police told our reporter Jay Ito that neighbors of recently paroled Henrietta resident Robert Parrish called 911 around 10 p.m., after an argument with his wife escalated on the lawn outside their trailer..."_

The rest of the unproofread article described a scene that managed to be vicious almost to the point of boredom, the sort of small town tragedy Blue normally would have found both too depressing and too common to be commented on -- except, this early morning, for the name of the victim/perpetrator.

WHNN hadn't said anything about Adam's mother being injured or dead. Perhaps that was a silver lining in the matter. Blue looked up at Orla, who was tapping her foot and giving her an irritable Told You So face.

"Apparently they're calling it 'suicide by cop,'" Orla said.

They who? Blue wondered, but she declined to respond. Everything Gansey had ever said about Adam's father led her to believe whoever they were, they were severely underestimating Robert Parrish's penchant for violence that harmed people besides himself.

She got out of bed and gave Elton his phone back, squeezing past him to tiptoe into the phone room, although she couldn't say why she bothered to tiptoe. The house was tranquil in a way that indicated all its residents were awake; you could almost measure the hum of a collectively held breath. Maybe if she refused to engage with the silent nosiness, they'd all go back to sleep.

After closing the phone room door she sat down crosslegged on the floor and laid her hand on the receiver. It wasn't like she had never called Gansey outside of business hours before, so to speak. As she debated with herself about calling now, it struck her she hadn't even thought about calling Adam. Did he have a phone, any type of phone? But then she thought: he'll be at Monmouth.

And Gansey was in DC. Shit.

She decided to call anyway, because what were the chances Gansey a.) hadn't heard or b.) was sleeping soundly under any circumstance? Blue did not want to be the bearer of this particular news, and she was kind of sorry she hadn't kept Elton's phone in case Gansey wanted details (such as they were according to WHNN), but all of her hesitations were being overruled by a single sharp wish: _I want to hear Gansey's voice and know he's okay._

Because if he was okay Adam was probably okay.

Probably neither of them was okay okay, but maybe they were _okay_ okay. Okay.

She dialed. Gansey said, "I was hoping you'd call, Jane," which was strange since there hadn't been any ring or chime or electronic bleep-bloop to indicate the call was being placed, and his voice--

He sounded so relieved. Grateful to the verge of tears.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"Sitting at a rest stop, drinking energizing hydrating Mountain Dew Kickstart. 5% juice." He must have heard her small chuff of laughter and said, "I know, it's terrible. I thought I could push through without stopping but my eyes were starting to swim a bit."

"I'm not sure Mountain Dew will bring you the nutritious fortitude you seek," Blue said.

"No," Gansey sighed. "Probably not."

"What can I do to help?" Blue swallowed. "With Adam."

"I'm not sure there is anything to do. I should be home in an hour and a half. Less if I--"

"Break the law?"

"Yeah." She pretended she felt the fondness of his smile, which had disappeared by the time he spoke again. "Adam's tough, though. Where his parents are concerned," he trailed off. Cleared his throat. "You just have to get used to a certain amount of, um. Not being able to help much."

"I can't quite think about it," Blue admitted. "What happened with his dad, I mean."

"I know," Gansey said. "I read the news story, and then Noah's sent me a few texts, and. It's like my brain refuses to process it."

Blue understood; her own thoughts skittered away from the story or imagining how Adam might be coping, except she kept remembering him in the backseat of the Camaro, when they were traveling back from taking Malory to the airport. Adam had seemed...heartier, more present, some change within him signaling strength and purpose, all of it bitterly hard won. It made Blue's head feel like it was going to pop off her neck to consider what he'd already lost.

Everything they'd all been through of late, everything already portended, and now this, somehow as awful and surreal as any of it.

(Picturing Persephone in her mind's eye, Blue bit her lip to keep from crying.)

"I've stood on his lawn," Gansey said. "Adam grew up in that trailer. His mother." He paused again. "And it's not like his father was misunderstood or secretly a great guy or something. But what kind of an asshole is deliriously happy his friend's father was killed?"

He did not sound okay. Not even okay okay. He sounded--

Don't think wrecked, Blue told herself. It's too unforgivable a pun, and besides, he still has another 100 miles to go.

"You're not an asshole."

Gansey made a sound like a laugh cut off by quick pain. "I appreciate the vote of confidence," he said. A metallic crumpling. No more Mountain Dew, it seemed. "Not deliriously happy," he said. "That's. Not the right way to say it at all."

"I know."

"Not any kind of happy about it."

"I _know_ , Gansey."

"He would hate that we're talking about it. Him." Gansey knew Blue knew that as well. The misery in his voice made Blue want to stab something with her switchblade.

Instead, she leaned back against the closest wall. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

"So, I have a proposition," she said, tying on a casual tone the way she put on her apron at Nino's. "I'll keep you company on the last leg of your trip, and you'll pick me up on your way to Monmouth."

If anyone complained later about her monopolizing the phone, she could yell at them, and that would feel pretty good, she'd bet.

Gansey didn't respond right away. She heard a car start. It made a far smoother rumble than the Pig was capable of. If the car in question was the car he was sitting in, she wondered which of the Gansey family vehicles he was driving. There was a faint tick of a turn signal.

"So that's a yes?" Blue asked.

"Yes," Gansey said. Blue listened to the white noise of the car picking up speed on the interstate for a few beats. "Thanks, Jane," he said quietly.

He drove for several miles, fiddled with the radio -- she heard a blip of violins, banjos, Beyonce, Crazy Larry selling ATVs at insane prices -- and snapped it off again. He told Blue how his mom's campaign was going, and they talked about a New York internship Helen was interested in. He sounded like himself at his warmest and most beckoning, and Blue had to brace herself to keep from sighing wistfully, foolishly.

"Have I ever told you what I discovered researching sea cucumbers?" he asked.

"No," she said, settling against the wall, enjoying his voice too much, too anxious for him to be back in Henrietta. "Tell me."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> talking on the phone while driving is not necessarily recommended by your local insurance agent but you know


End file.
